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and felt his finger press against the metal trigger. Just
over a hundred and fifty yards. Closing one eye, he aimed at a box of gelignite
he had doused heavily with petrol and upended to make it stand out. Holding his
breath, he squeezed the trigger.
    The flash of the tracer round streaked across the yard and struck the
wooden box. Immediately an explosion ripped the air, sheets of flame burst out
and engulfed the largest stack of stores, followed in succession by a second,
third and fourth explosion as the fireball engulfed the yard. The first
half-dozen Germans were caught in the inferno, and Tanner saw three more catch
fire amid screams of shock and pain.
    'Run!' shouted Tanner. 'Run, Hep!' Then the two were scrambling to
their feet, minds closed to what was going on behind them, concentrating on
sprinting northwards for all they were worth, away from the yard and warehouse
to safety.
    Above the din of further explosions, the rattle and whizz of bullets
detonating, Tanner was aware of a cannon shell whooshing past him only a few
feet away and punching a hole through a wooden building up ahead. A few seconds
later, machine-gun bullets fizzed over their heads. He and Hepworth dropped to
the ground a few yards short of the bridge over the Mesna river. Tanner rolled
over, unslung his rifle and pulled it into his shoulder. A little over three
hundred yards, he reckoned. He could see the black-jacketed tank commander's
head sticking out of the turret; he was now firing the machine-gun towards
them. Tanner pulled back the bolt and fired. The man's head jerked backwards.
When it righted itself, half his face had gone and the machine-gun was silent.
He yelled at Hepworth to start running again. More soldiers were crouching by
the tank. Tanner pulled back the bolt again and, without moving his face from
the stock, hit a second man. Two. Pull back the bolt, fire. Three. Again. Four. This time he only clipped
a soldier. Back came the bolt. Five. Six. Seven. Three rounds left. That'll do.
    He turned and ran, ten yards, twenty, thirty - over the bridge and away
from the inferno, away from the startled enemy. Ahead, the road turned, still
running parallel to the railway but, he knew, out of sight of the yard. A
bullet fizzed past his ear. He could see Hepworth had already made it. Another
bullet zipped by, and another, and then he was safe, for a moment at any rate,
out of sight of the enemy.
    Hepworth was up ahead, slowing now, and Tanner paused, hands on his
hips, leaning backwards, gasping for breath. Now that he had momentarily
stopped, he felt his pack cutting into his shoulders. Bending double to relieve
the weight, he grimaced, then began running again, albeit more slowly. Behind
him, vast clouds of pitch-black smoke rolled into the sky.
    Tanner drew level with Hepworth, who grinned. 'Some explosion, that
one, Sarge. I reckon there's a few Jerries there who won't be bothering us no
more.' He watched as Tanner pressed another clip of bullets into his magazine.
'Shoot a few of the buggers, did you, Sarge? Did you get that tank man?'
    'Less of the chit-chat, Hep,' said Tanner. 'Let's concentrate on catching
up with the others and getting out of here in one piece.'
    They were nearing the edge of the town. A few frightened civilians were
peering from their houses, but the streets were still empty. He had hoped to
come across a car, a motorbike or even bicycles, but there had been nothing and
no time in which to look more thoroughly. The houses thinned and then they were
in the open, running along a cleared road, patchy snow at either side and
yellowed grass showing through. Of the rest of the platoon there was no sign.
How much of a head start had they had? he wondered. Fifteen minutes? No wonder
he couldn't see them.
    'How much further, Sarge?' gasped Hepworth.
    'A mile. Not much more.' Tanner could see the mass of the Balberg
strutting imperiously above them. German field guns continued booming behind
them. They could see the dark